by
Po Bronson
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'Hey, what gives? You should be excited. This is your moment to be on top of the heap.'
'It's just been a long haul It's taken a lot out of me. I thought I would be excited, but feel my pulse - it's like I just woke up. You know what I really want to do right now? I want to order a burger from room service and see if there's a game on television. Or maybe go down to the bar and flirt with the German tourists. I could take this or leave it. I can't understand it. I cheat, bully, and lie to get what I want, only to find all the pleasure's already been squeezed out.'
Lloyd and the two guys in New York began discussing how much of the Everyware shares should be reserved for employees. Lloyd seemed to think it was customary to set a big percentage aside, but the two guys in New York seemed amused by that idea.
'This isn't 1986 anymore,' one said.
The other added, 'Don't give away the farm unless you have to.'
Francis turned to Quentin Black and whispered, 'I thought most employees always got shares.'
'Top managers, sure. But the days of secretaries retiring at age thirty-five are over. Give 'em a set of steak knives at Christmas, they'll be happy.'
Francis stood up again. 'Excuse me,' he said. 'Excuse me, hold on here.' He walked forward to stand beside Lloyd. 'Maybe you all are right about what we can get away with if we want to, but J don't want to. I want shares for the employees. I want to be able to hire people, engineers out of college, and say to them, "Here's a piece of the action."
hmm interesting periodization
'But it's a realistic one. I don't want to fight the market on this one. You want to understand what we're up against? Microsoft dominates the operating-systems market for desktop computers, and they're gaining in the race to control big iron. They've become the gatekeeper, and it's nearly impossible to compete with them. Maybe the only way to break their stranglehold is to invent a new box, a box that makes the operating system irrelevant. That's what I want your technology for. I don't care what price the box sells for. That's not important. We'll sell it for whatever consumers want to pay for it. What's important is that the box, at whatever price, doesn't have to kiss Microsoft's ass. So you want vision? That's my vision. I want to stop kissing Microsoft's ass, I want to return this industry to a level playing field, I want to smash the gatekeeper. How's that for vision? Huh? What do you want, Andy? Let's talk terms, huh? What do you want?'
respectable tbh
'What am I afraid of? You're going to start wearing sport coats and ties to work and you're going to get a nice house in Los Altos Hills, which you will rarely visit because you're always in Tokyo or Austin working a deal and you'll start saying things like "Jeez, a Mercedes is a very functional car" and you'll start golfing with your broker on weekends.'
'Your imagination is running wild.'
'Andy, there are certain kinds of women who look perfectly at ease in a black dress, sitting at a linen-covered table in the middle of a fifty-dollar-a-plate restaurant but I am not one of them.'
At dinnertime I asked Clee if she wanted to join me for chicken and kale on toast. If she was surprised by toast for dinner, I was going to explain how it’s easier to make than rice or pasta but still counts as a grain. I wouldn’t lay out my whole system at once, just a little tip here, a little tip there. She said she had some food she’d brought with her.
“Do you need a plate?”
“I can eat it out of the thing.”
“A fork?”
“Okay.”
I gave her the fork and turned up the ringer on my phone. “I’m waiting for an important phone call,” I explained. She glanced behind herself, as if looking for the person who might be interested to know this.
lmao
At the Ethiopian restaurant I requested a fork. They explained that I had to use my hands, so I asked for it to go, got a fork at Starbucks, and sat in my car. But my throat wouldn’t accept even this very soft meal. I put it on the curb for a homeless person. An Ethiopian homeless person would be especially delighted. What a heartbreaking thought, encountering your native food in this way.
chuckled at this
But most nights we didn’t do anything. I cooked, took a bath, read in bed; she talked on the phone, watched TV, heated her frozen meals. We ignored each other with a feeling of fullness and ferment. Phillip texted (KIRSTEN WANTS YOUR PERMISSION TO DO ORAL. ???! NO PRESSURE. STANDING BY UNTIL YOUR GO-AHEAD) and I felt no animosity. Oh, Kirsten. Maybe she was our cat for the past one hundred thousand lifetimes, always on the bed, pawing around in the covers, watching us. Congratulations, kitty, you’re the girlfriend this time—but I’m still in charge. I felt limber and generous. Phillip was working through something—that’s how I might put it to a close friend, in confidence. I’d permitted him to have an affair with a younger woman.
dying
But a funny thing happened on the way to the front door.
“Yum, yum, yum,” said a voice from the shadows. She swaggered out and put her hand on the small of my back. She was wearing a backward baseball cap.
“Step away!” I barked, and she hung back for exactly one, two, three seconds before lunging. The next five minutes proved that my neighbors didn’t care if I lived or died.
“Yikes!” she said. “Who’s that terrifying woman screaming on your message machine?! That’s you.” I rehearsed not only the kicks and grabs but all the dialogue and staging. Dana really threw herself into the skits; shock, fear, anger—she demonstrated not just what to do but how to feel. My favorite moments were right before the assault—lounging on the park bench, walking casually to the front door. My hair felt long and heavy on my back; I swung my hips a little, knowing I was being watched, hunted even. It was interesting to be this kind of person, so unself-conscious and exposed, so feminine. Dana could have had a career making videos like this for all occasions—waking up, answering the phone, leaving the house; a woman could follow along and learn what to do when she’s not being attacked, how to feel the rest of the time.
Clee and I had both ordered the Mandarin beef; mine was placed in front of me at an ordinary speed but Clee’s was lowered in slow motion. I looked up at the waiter’s long, red gullet as he swallowed drily. It had been a little while since I’d seen this kind of thing happen in reality and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a fantastic idea for her to hold this man’s stiff member for one to two minutes. Especially since Phillip’s was right there, swelling under the table. I shot the waiter a look to let him know she was spoken for; he hurried off.
Three minutes later he was back to ask how everything was. He used the question to lick Clee’s jugs with his doglike eyes.
“That waiter was way out of line,” I said after he left. This accidentally came out in a low, brusque voice, Phillip’s voice. It was a subtle thing; Carl didn’t notice. But Clee cocked her head, blinking. She shot her hand into the air, signaling the waiter.
this whole scene is amazing